Bookshelf
by Invisia
Summary: One-shots for the Bookshelf Challenge on HP challenge forum, for Alicia Mirza. TWO: William Decuvas mulls over his mistakes in Azkaban, then formulates his revenge.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **Written for Alicia Mirza on the HP Fanfiction Challenges forum. Enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I don't own HP. Sorry.

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**Prompt: **_Write about a tale which turns out to be true. Alternatively, write about someone doing something really heroic._

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**Challenge 1**

**Fairytales**

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Everyone's heard of fairytales, right? Stories for little kids, to get them to shut up for a bit. Stories of daring knights, dashing princes, evil wizards and beautiful princesses. In every story, it all ends happily-ever-after, doesn't it? The villain is vanquished, the hero gets the girl and everyone's happy.

I hate fairytales. Detest them even. You see, everything in fairytales is perfect. It's just one big lie, really, isn't it? Childhood? None of the things you believed in are real, whether this be Santa Clause, the Tooth Fairy or the Easter Bunny. Or even fairytales. Children have to grow up sometimes, don't they? They have to know that life isn't perfect, and not everyone gets their happy ending.

You may wonder what did happen to me, to make me so bitter? Well, at one point, my life was a fairytale. I was beautiful, I had friends, and I almost got the guy of my dreams. Then she had to pull that away from me. My horrid, decietful mother.

I bet you're wondering who on earth I am, and what on earth I'm talking about, don't you? My name is Emmeline Vance- no, not the order member, but her grandmother, on her father's side. Onto what I'm talking about... well, I'll explain, shall I? Or rather, why don't we just step into this nice pensieve oever here, and I can show you what happened so long ago...

* * *

_"Remember, class," the beautiful, dark-haired woman announced, "Homework is in on Friday." Groans echoed from the sixth-year students. "Off you go now." As the students trailed out, one of them looked particularly happy. She had gingery-brown hair, a fair complexion and glinting blue eyes. She rushed down the corridor the find someone; a tall, tanned, muscular teen, a year older than her with bronze hair and a winning smile. He was suurounded by a large group of chattering people, laughing about some joke that had just been told to him by a teen of Jamacian decent. _

_He saw her at once, excused himself from the group and dashed towards her, kissing her on the cheek. The girl giggled._

_"Hello Lance," she greeted. _

_"Emmeline, I missed you!" he cried._

_"You saw me just two hours ago..." she reminded him playfully._

_"Ah, it feels much longer!" he cried, wrapping an arm around her. "By the way, your mother is a genious!"_

_"She is?" Emmeline asked, her head cocked in curiousity. _

_"Yes! I told her my theory, about the Chamber of Secrets, and she agrees with me! How great is that!"_

_Emmeline rolled her eyes. "Oh, Lance," she sighed, "Ever the dreamer."_

_"Oh, Emmeline," he mocked, "Ever the realist."_

_Suddenly a hand darted oput from te shadows, pulling Emmeline back a few paces. "Don't make a sound," a voice hissed into her ear. "Excuse yourself, now."_

_"Lance!" Emmeline cried worriedly. "I've just remembered- left something in Defence- let me go and get it!" _

_"Okay, meet you in the courtyard afterwards?" Lance asked, and she nodded._

_"Sounds good!"_

_The moment her boyfriend's back was turned, Emmeline was pulled back into the shadows, into a side corridor lit by a lone candle. In the flickering light, a face could be made out; the face of the beautiful woman from the classroom._

_"I warned you!" the woman hissed. "Emmeline Grace, I warned you!"_

_"Stop it, let go of me!" Emmeline cried, and the light of the candle lflared, revealing the hand still clasped on Emmeline's shoulders._

_"I warned you to stay away from that Jones boy. And did you? No! Of course not! You just go prance around and- how dare you disrespect your mother? After all I've done for you!"_

_"Mother... please... no!" Emmeline sobbed. She, and she alone, knew just how harsh the widower could be. "What are you going to do to me?"_

_"I'm-" the mother cried, struggling to hold onto the writhing girl- "Going to make you- Disappear!" _

_There was a scream, and then a clatter as the candle fell to the floor. Even by the dim light, it is obvious that nobody is there. The memory starts to blurr around the edges, then fade completely._

* * *

So you see now? See now why I hate fairytales? Wait, no. This isn't the full story yet, is it? Well then, let's take a look at this memory, just here... Yes, that's right, into the pensieve now...

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_It was snowing. Around seventy people- most of them under seventeen- stood around a large hole in the ground. In the large hole was a long wooden box- a coffin? Earth was being shovelled on top of it by a bearded man, who looked grim and determined, unlike the weeping people stood around him, all dressed in black. _

_Two of these people could easily tie for most distraught- an older woman and a teenage boy. The boy was tanned and muscular, his face stony as he looked down, but the utter loss in his eyes so moving you felt as if your whole world had been destroyed. Lance Jones had always shown his emotions through his eyes- some looked at it as a gift, others as a curse._

_The woman was older, maybe in her mid fourties, with long, dishevelled dark hair and creamy skin. Her eyes were closed, tears leaking from under the lids. She looked utterly lost, as if her world had shattered and could never be rebuilt._

_However, any that knew this woman, would know that she had a lot of practice. That she wasn't really upset at all. That somewhere, underneath her mask, she was smiling._

* * *

I think my Mother gave me that memory to spite me. I know well enough that that was the last time I ever saw him. Lance Jones. My sweetheart, my true love, my world.

Still, you are not yet done: I have another memory to show you. Into the pensieve you go...

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_The sun shone down on the wedding arch as a young couple stood beneath it. They were both young, twenty at the most. One was a rather portly young man, with whispy blonde hair combed over his head and a jolly smile. He wore a plain grey suit, and was smiling at a woman._

_The woman was both taller and thinner- in fact, she was so thin she looked starved. Her hair was long and gingery-brown, her eyes a dull blue. She wore a white dress recognisable to any as a wedding gown. The guests in the crowd were cheering as they held hands, the happy young man and his desolate bride._

_Suddenly the scene shifted, changed, and it was nighttime. There was a party going on, and in the middle of it all, the portly man approached his wife and asked her to dance. She agreed politely and they danced, the man chattering away as the woman looked like she was listening, but really wasn't. _

_Then the scene changed again, to the young woman holding a screaming child, the man's hand resting on her shoulder as they looked down on their son. _

_The only things that were similar about the three memories were the young couple, and the woman in the corner, dark and forboding. In each and every memory, she was smiling, looking as if a part of her plan had just come into place. _

_And in each and every one, it had._

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I hate her. I hate her so much. Go on, into the pensieve, while I brood. I cannot waste your time, as I have my own.

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_It was winter again. In the enterance hall of a large manor, a young woman in a snowy white cloak made her way purposefully towards the door. Her blue eyes were brighter than they had been in years. Her hand reached for the doorknob-_

_"What are you doing?"_

_The voice was sharp, and belonged to the woman with dark hair and a plan. The cloaked woman drew herself up straight, and turned to her mother. _

_"I'm leaving," she said quietly, in a tone of finality. _

_"Oh, I disagree," the older woman said with a laugh. "You, dear daughter of mine, are not going anywhere."_

_"I am no daughter of yours!" the readhead yelled, her hood falling down. "You filled my childhood with stories of true love and freedom and- and having a life- and then you took that all away from me!"_

_"My dear, those stories were necessary... I needed you to understand that in life, you will never have a happy ending."_

_"Well I'm sick of it!" she roared. "I don't love Herbert Vance- my one and only has always been Lance! I've been waiting for him all these years, but he's not coming, is he mother? So now it's up to me to go and find him!"_

_"My dear, you make a mistake," the older woman laughed, bringing out her wand. "You are not going anywhere..."_

* * *

Wait a minute... A memory charm? Why would there be a memory charm on that memory, unless?

Oh great goodness! Can it be? I need to see...

* * *

_"Stop right there!" came a yell, and both women turned to see a man. A man with bronze hair, tanned skin, and rather large muscles. Emmeline's breath caught in her throat. _

_"Lance?" she whispered. "Lance, how did you find me?"_

_"I saw your picture in the paper the other day," he told her, coming to stand beside her and kissing her cheek. She giggled._

_"I missed you," she whispered. _

_"I only saw you twenty years ago," he reminded her. _

_"It feels like forever," she whispered, smiling. _

_"No- you can't!" the woman snarled. "You've ruined everything- you leave me no choice- _Avada Kedavra!"

_A flash of green light. A woman's face, laughing in frenzied delight. A couple, hanging onto each other's arms, dead on the floor. A child, on the staircase. A child, who's strangled cry was the last the woman ever heard._

_"Mummy!"_

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I-I can't believe it? How could I have forgotten? Of course I know how; that evil hag sealed my memory. Or maybe it is the person in charge here, the one who watches over the dead?

I remember now. That's all that's important. I know now that sometimes, fairytales really do come true- you just have to have the courage to find them.

Only the courage to do what is right can protect what you love.

I understand that now.

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**The End**

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**A/N: **So what do you think of Emmeline Vance I? Hope you enjoyed it, I'll try and have the next challenge up soon!


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: **Nope, nothing to say here.

**Disclaimer: **I cannot claim to own Harry Potter. Well, I can, but that would be lying.

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**Prompt: **_Write about someone who wants nothing more than power and would do anything to get it. Alternatively, write about a war._

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**Challenge Two**

**Anything**

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__Power.

What else is there for us than power? Power allows us to live and to die. Power marks out the high and the low. The big and the little. Society and the rejects.

Imagine wealding a power so strong that it could shake your whole world. Imagine a power to end the world, to bring down the structure of all wizardkind. A power like that... I want it.

I want it so much.

No, I do more than want it; I crave it. My very soul begs to behold this power. It's like... there's a monster inside of me. A power-crazy monster who will stop at nothing to behold such power.

How will I get this power, you may ask? The Elder Wand.

The Elder Wand.

This wand is the most powerful in the world. This wand, that has saved so many lives- and destroyed so many more. It's almost in my grasp. All I need to do is kill Harry Potter- and then everything will fall into place.

Kill Harry Potter. This is my task, my one and only task. After this, I can do anything- save lives, start a war. I could even destroy the world. That, my friends, is my goal. To be the only man to walk the earth, and sole controller of seven continents and countless acres of ocean.

This all runs through my mind as I sit here, in this dark and dingy prison. Azkaban can really suck the life out of you. I remember that day... Seeing him... I almost... If it hadn't been for that meddling woman...

You're wondering what I'm talking about, aren't you? Well, maybe I should tell you... no, I'll show you! Hey, what's a pensieve doing in Azkaban, I wonder?

Never mind. Just listen. Watch. See my failure- my miserable failure. The one that cost me my power, my life, my freedom...

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_It was a brisk October morn. The citizens of Luna Lakes walked with their heads low, trying to keep their faces out of the stinging wind. Several looked up from the brims of their wooly hats to nod a greeting, or smiled beneath knitted scarves. Wind kicked up the fallen leaves, scattering them across the street. An old man sighed in fustration; that was the sixth time today that he'd had to sweep up the leaves. _

_In the middle of this walked a man with tousled black hair and very green eyes, though these were hidden by round glasses. Just poking out from beneath his untidy fringe was the thin red line of a scar. One may wonder where he had gotten it. _

_Hanging on to his arm was a woman with long red hair, freckles, and warm brown eyes. She was smiling, laughing at something the man had said to her. Her stomach was swollen slightly with the presence of an unborn child._

_In the crowd a figure moved. He had tomato-soup coloured hair, a thin, rat-like face and narrowed yellowish eyes, giving him the look of a sour rodent. "Like a mouse sucking on a lemon?" a child had once asked as their friend discribed the man, though this comment would not be made for days yet._

_The man drew his wand, which was very short and knobbly, and pointed it at the man._

"Stupefy," _he whispered, and there was a yell as the red bolt of light shot over several people's heads. The head auror and his wife ducked, and then the man stood, drew his wand and pointed it straight at the attacker. _

_"William Decuvas," he snarled. "I might've known."_

_"Harry Potter, I see we meet at last. I've been waiting to see you for a very, very long time."_

_"How long?" the man asked snidely._

_"Enough time to plan this!" the rat-faced man, identified as William, snarled. _"Avada-"

_"_Expelliarmus!"

_In one single blast of energy, the wands of both William Decuvas, troublemaker, and Harry Potter, national hero, flew from their hands. They both turned to see the head auror's young wife, galring at them. _"Stupefy!" _she yelled, and the memory went black as William Decuvas blacked out. _

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You see? You see now how I messed up? Was denied the power that was rightfully mine? All thanks to Ginny Potter. That b****.

You ask me why I want power? Who wouldn't? My parents were Death Eaters, killed in the war. I was fourteen when it ended, too young to have done anything useful. I was told about the great Harry Potter for years afterwards, and I wondered: if he's so great, then why does he need the elder wand? Why does he need the most powerful wand in the world, if he defeated Voldemort and lived to tell the tale?

I'll tell you why: greed. He didn't want anyone else to be as powerful as him, so he took it and hid it.

I want my wand. I want my power. I want what _she_ promised me. All those years ago... You see, I never quite forgot.

* * *

_"But I don't wanna go to bed!" the small boy whined. His nanny pursed her lips._

_"You have to, Willy, if you want to be a powerful wizard some day."_

_The boy shuffled in his covers, trying to get comfy. He couldn't quite manage it. "But Wanda!" he whined. "What is power? What is it to be a powerful wizard?"_

_"Well, you see Willy," Wanda said, kneeling on the floor by the head of the bed. "Being a powerful wizard means you are better than all the other wizards, because you can do things they can't do."_

_"But why can't they?" Willy asked, having stopped fidgeting to listen, transfixed, to his nanny's words._

_"Because... they aren't powerful. And you are. So that makes you special."_

_"Will I be powerful one day, Wanda?" Willy asked sleepily. _

_"Oh yes," the nanny agreed, "The most powerful of them all..."_

* * *

Those words never quite left me, because I wanted to be powerful. I wanted to be special. I wanted to be the very best.

However, I turned out to be the very worst. I don't know why, but magic was hard- harder then I expected. I barely got through Hogwarts with an 'A', and I thought the Elder Wand would get me somewhere.

Well, it did I suppose. It got me to Azkaban.

Since getting in here, I've seen others try to escape; all have been unsucessful. They were all much more powerful wizards and witches than me- I decided not to bother.

No, wait. I _will _bother. I never stopped before. I'm not going to stop now. Not because of dementors, the minestry, or Ginny beeping Potter.

Not even the walls of Azkaban will hold me back.

I will have my freedom. I will have my revenge.

And at last, I will have my power.

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**A/N: **Here it is, the tale of William Decuvas. Did he ever get out of Azkaban? I'll leave that up to you to decide.


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